Malfoy Manner: Our Dinner With Weasleys
by mrs.milfoy
Summary: A two installment romp involving our favorite deviant duo and a devilish dinner with the wondrous Weasleys, some randy reminiscences, and a moto-crackin' muggle car.
1. Absolute Beginners

For my patient dragon, my kind followers and reviewers. I apologize this piece must come in two parts, but there is much ground to be covered. I also apologize the real smut doesn't roll until part two. But I promise it shall be worth thy wait.

Malfoy Manner: Our Dinner with Weasleys

Part the First - Absolute Beginners

Draco woke to the strangest sensation. Something cold…round…and hard on his lower back. Tinkling sounds…then another cold, round and hard thing on his upper back. "What the hell?" He murmured sleepily, starting to rise.

"Whoa!" Fingers pressed his shoulders back to the mattress. "You'll spill my tea."

"Your tea?" He turned his head painfully this way and that until he saw… "You're bloody mad!" There was a damn teacup on his back! With saucer! And a plate…with a scone? "Mother! You nutter! I'm _not_ a breakfast table!"

"Obviously," she drawled. She was crosslegged beside him, quite naked. A silver service hovered a foot or so over their bed. "Don't spill! It's hot."

"I cannot believe this." She cut and prepared her scone. Crumbs drizzled onto his butt. "You are making a mess!"

"Mint can change the sheets." She began eating calmly.

A moment passed. He drummed his fingers. His stomach growled. "Is there at least tea for me?"

She sighed and shifted, lifted her cup and saucers off of him and placed them on the bed. "Yes. Here."

He sat up, looked at her as though she was daft. She shrugged and proffered his cup. "Crazy bint." He sipped. She pulled a scone off the service for him and set the plate between them. "Breakfast in bed?"

"I thought it might be nice."

"Hm." He slathered clotted cream onto his scone. "Jam?"

She passed him a jar. "Strawberry."

He added the jam to his cream and took a bite. "Mmm." He jumped when a dollop of the sweet mixture fell into his lap. It slid slowly down his bobbing erection. "Nice, mum."

She looked at the mess and licked her lips. "Quite."

And before he could speak or prepare, she was leaning over the jam and saucers, taking him in her mouth. "Bollocks!" He jolted at the sensation and grabbed the unsettled teacup beside him. "Oh, Merlin, witch." He was barely able to wrestle the cup back onto the service before she was earnestly blowing him. "Fuck, you're evil!" One hand tangled in her hair. The other reached for her thigh. "Tit for tat," he gasped, pulling.

He fell back into the pillows and tugged her thigh over his head. The jam tipped onto the bed. A scone slipped from its plate. A right mess was truly made, but the moan around his cock when his mouth found her wet cunt was more than worth it. Her left knee settled in the spilled jam and Draco reached toward the jar. Two fingers smeared the sweet redness onto her tart pinkness. "Let's sweeten the deal, mother." He dove in.

He moans turned to groans. She sucked and swirled with abandon while he licked and nipped with equal abandon. When he'd cleaned her once, his fingers re-applied the jelly. She took his cue and reached backwards to the puddle of red goo.

"Gods!" It was cold and sticky as she fisted it onto his cock. She licked now, still panting. He lapped a few crumbs from her clit. How had those gotten there? She was so hot the jam liquefied almost quicker than he could catch it.

She'd taken on a steady moaning cadence, up and down along his length. The vibrations felt fantastic. He needed to keep her making that sound. He introduced one, then two fingers into her tightening hole. The moans deepened. Bliss…

She stroked his tacky balls in rhythm. He found he could control the delicious humming with his own ministrations. He slowed his fingers' thrusts, massaged her swollen slit. His other hand spread her open so his tongue could flick and flatten on her hardened clit.

Her demoniacal mouth had begun to focus on the sensitive head of his cock. She was fiendish in knowing his weaknesses... Very well. His fingers fucked her enthusiastically, curving til he knew the tips teased that hidden button in her that surfaced just for him.

He felt his balls seizing and she rolled them. He didn't have to tell her he was coming, knew she would drink every salty drop. She always did. He grunted against her folds while she milked him. She coughed a bit, caught mid-swallow by her own abandoned orgasm. "Oh, _fuck_," she whimpered tightly.

He pressed his tongue flat to her clit, pinched it between the fingers that had opened her up. The fingers inside her enjoyed the shuddering contractions in her slick walls. Her mouth opened on his thigh and she growled the last of her pleasure there. He felt flecks of spit flying and patted her arse soothingly.

They breathed heavily for a while before she rose to her knees, straddling his chest. She looked down at him over her shoulder. "An excellent breakfast, son."

He slid his hands up her hips, over her lovely rib cage and up to cup her heavy breasts. "I agree, mum." He cocked his head at the bed. "Quite a mess, though."

Her forehead creased. "Indeed. What will Mint think?"

He chuckled. "I doubt Mint shall be in the least surprised." Her face was inquisitive, but he didn't elaborate. "Come on. A bath for us."

She nodded and rose shakily, dusting crumbs from her belly.

They bathed in dragon's blood and patchouli oils. Draco washed his mother's hair and broached the subject he'd been avoiding for the last two days. "So. Still on for the Weasleys' dinner tonight?" He hoped his tone was casual and not fearful.

Narcissa growled. "You got us into this."

He let his soapy hands rub her shoulders, gentling her. "You don't have to go, mum."

"I know that." She dunked away from him and rinsed her hair. She emerged wringing the wet mass of black and blonde. "But I will go."

He smiled at her. "Thanks. I don't think it will be so bad." She gave him a skeptical brow. "You know," he said. "You haven't kissed me all morning."

Her incredulous look set him laughing. "I think I better than kissed you!" She exclaimed.

He reached for her. "Oh, I've no complaints about…breakfast. I just long for your soft lips on mine."

She grinned as she straddled him, hugging him tightly. "No need for flattery, son. I've said I'll go."

"No flattery, mother." He kissed her soundly, sloshing the water as he adjusted her. "It just doesn't feel right…" He slipped inside her easily. "…until we're like this."

"Mmm. There is something to be said for it," she crooned. The water buoyed her as she rode him. They swallowed each others' cries in opened, kissing, tasting mouths.

They dressed as casually as was possible for Malfoys – Draco in a trim black jumper and oxford and Narcissa in a knee length frock of ice blue that accented her eyes nicely. She was affixing sapphire earrings when a thought occurred to her. "We should take wine."

Draco nodded and stood from the edge of the filthy bed. "I'll fetch one. Anything particular?"

She shrugged. "Something nice."

"Right. I'll stay away from the dodgy stuff."

She caught him at the door. "And Draco? Send Mint up to tend to the bed. Say that I was…clumsy or something."

He leaned in the doorframe. "Mum…I think maybe…the elf knows."

Scandal gripped her features. "Impossible!"

He tapped the wall a few times. "Just a feeling I get."

"Well, your feeling is erroneous, I assure you."

"Of course, of course." He left her reassured. In fact, their elf was in the drawing room when Draco entered. It was intricately dusting the new chandelier with a charmed rag, directing the cloth from below. It acknowledged him with a nod. "Mint."

"Young master."

"The mistress…spilled her breakfast this morning. Could you tend to her bed while we're out, please?"

"Yes, young master. Shall Mint tend young master's bed, too?"

Draco looked back from the cellar steps. "My bed is fine, Mint." The elf grunted. Draco scowled. "What's that, then? That grunt. What does it mean?"

"Young master's bed is dusty."

Draco flushed. Yep. It definitely knew. His mother would be mortified. "Very well," he groused. "Tend my bed, too." He flourished a finger at the creature. "And keep your opinions to yourself. I still find you insolent and may yet kick you." He could feel the elf's irreverent faces as he descended to the cellars. "Bloody nuisance…"

He selected a white and a red. Who knew what Weasleys served for dinner? What did poor people eat? He cringed at thoughts of dried potatoes, shrivelly carrots, fatty pork pie and stale crusts of bread. "Merlin, please let there be something edible."

His mother approved of his choices. He'd found her in the library, comfortably tucked into a plush divan and some wizarding novel. She looked up from the book to glance at the wines and nod. She seemed absorbed.

"What are you reading, then?" He sprawled at her feet.

"_Undying Love_," she answered.

"Blech." He grimaced. He hated romance novels – witches mooning about over strapping wizards with flying pirate ships and such rot. "What's it about?"

"Necrophilia."

"Oh." He stared at her. She was truly fucking disturbing sometimes. "Well, we should be off."

"Off?" She blinked. "There's over an hour before we need be there."

"Well." He stood and stretched. "I um… I thought we'd fly. Lovely day and all."

"Fly?" She'd made no move to stand. "You're insane. Not on that black death trap I got you?"

"The same." He grinned. "Come on, mum. Don't you trust me?"

"No."

"Ouch. Really?"

She sighed, exasperated. "Draco. I've not been on a broom in…close to 25 years now. I've no intentions of climbing on one now."

"Are you a witch?"

Her eyes narrowed at him. "Quite," she snarled.

"Then get on this broom with me." He took her book and tossed it onto a side table. "Witches were riding brooms long before wizards were. It's in your blood, your chromosomes…or your uterus? I don't know where exactly. But it's there." He pulled her up by her slender hands. "You're meant to be on a broom. More importantly, _my_ broom." Her softening expression meant she was caving. "It'll be lovely, mum. I promise. If you don't like it, I'll land and we'll apparate. Alright?"

"Merlin." She chuffed. "The things I let you talk me into."

"Yes!" He kissed her. "Come on. You'll want a long cloak if you're wearing that frock."

The broom was more comfortable than Narcissa had imagined. Halfway through their journey, she leaned into Draco's ear to tell him so. Her warm breath against his wind-chilled ear was distracting. A lesser broom, and they may have wobbled a bit. He liked the feel of her stretched against his back, arms tightly around his chest and cheek resting sweetly on his shoulder. Occasionally a stray strand of her hair would flick around to tickle his ear or face. He grinned.

They circled the Burrow twice before slipping through tingly alert wards to land in a cluttered, overgrown yard surrounding a cluttered, overgrown house. Draco dismounted the hovering broom and smoothly helped his side-saddled passenger to the dusty ground. He tugged off his goggles as she discreetly took in their surroundings. She produced her wand and fixed her mussed hair with a quickness.

"Nice trip, eh?"

She glanced at him askance. "It was…a smooth ride," she admitted.

A Weasley was approaching excitedly. Draco slapped Narcissa's arse. "Oh, I've definitely had smoother rides, mum. Hello, Arthur!" He was spared her embarrassed wrath.

Arthur was over the moon. He shook Draco's hand with both his own, gushing about having the Malfoys at last. Narcissa smiled prettily as more Weasleys crowded the door. Molly pushed through them, followed by Ron. "Oy, Malfoy!"

"Ron." Draco nodded.

Ron looked past him. "Bloody fucking hell…"

"Ron Weasley!" Molly was touching Narcissa, ushering the witch toward the house. "Watch your filthy mouth! Hello, Mrs. Malfoy!" She slapped her own mouth. "Ms. Malfoy," she corrected and blushed profusely. "Do come in!"

Narcissa looked back at Draco almost pleadingly, but her son was fielding broom admiration and could only smile encouragement. "It's a Mercury," Ron breathed. "Harry!" He bellowed.

Draco suddenly wondered if this wasn't…a bad idea. Not that he would admit such a thing! But he did wonder. The scarhead appeared from the rickety shack, smiled at Molly and a clearly nervous Narcissa, and ambled up to where Ron and Arthur stood simply staring.

"Wow." Potter began staring, too. "It's incredible, Draco."

"Thank you." Draco felt a bit awkward, staring at his own broom. What to do? "Care for a ride?" He offered his goggles to the ogling group.

Eyes flicked from the broom to the owner. "Seriously, mate?" Ron asked in a small voice.

"Of course." Draco passed the goggles firmly into the ginger's slightly shaky hands.

Ron looked at the house, then back to his father and Harry. "Don't tell Mione," he whispered. "She's already told me I'm not to be on one of these. Ever."

The other men shook their heads while the Weasley took off smoothly. They watched him rise into the azure sky. "Nice day for it," Draco said.

"I'm next!" Arthur and Harry spoke at once.

Inside the Burrow, there was a bustle of activity and chatter. A rather delectable palate of odors circulated from the kitchen where Ginny Weasley was setting a long table with Hermione Granger's help. Luna Longbottom sat laughing with her husband and George Weasley, shelling peas into a copper pot. When Molly and Narcissa appeared in the doorway, all activity halted with an almost audible screech. "The Malfoys are here!" Molly sang out.

A dotty, undertain chorus of "Hello, Ms. Or Mrs. Malfoy" circled the room. Narcissa took a deep breath and a hard swallow. "Hello." Her voice nearly cracked. She whisked towards Molly and held out a thick velvet bag. "We…brought wine."

"Wine!" Molly scampered with the bag. "How wonderful! Ginny, get the wineglasses."

"We have wineglasses?"

Molly set the bottles on the table. "Yes! Well, I believe so. Somewhere…Let's see." She began shuffling about the chaotic kitchen.

"Where's Ron?" Granger asked.

"Ah-ha!" Molly emerged from an obviously enchanted nook beneath the sink with a dusty box of wineglasses. "Some broken, but…well Hermione is the best at reparo!"

Dutifully, Granger took the box. "Have you seen Ron?" she repeated.

"Outside looking at Mr. Malfoy's new broom, dear."

Hermione looked almost accusingly at Narcissa. "New broom?"

Cissa bit her lip. "Yes." Her answer was so uncertain it was almost a question.

"What broom?" The young witch put her fists to her hips and the Malfoy woman's nostrils flared.

How dare this slip of a muggle-born witch with unfortunate hair speak to her in such a manner? "He has a Mercury, I believe." She answered in a curious blend of modest disregard and haughty apathy.

"Oh, hell…" Granger was out the door.

"Ginny, don't forget the napkins!" Molly tutted.

"Oh, mum. The cloth ones? They're so pretentious and…stupid." Ginny complained.

"I always just fold them over beside the plate," Luna offered airily. "Less trouble."

Suddenly, Narcissa stepped into the kitchen. "I can help," she offered, looking surprised at her own actions. "I know charms for the napkins." She pulled her wand. A few people flinched.

Ginny dropped the basket of brown linens on the table. "Thank you."

The girl watched as Narcissa began her work, folding a napkin by each plate before waving her wand over it and whispering an incantation. Her intent gaze made the Malfoy witch even more nervous. Granger came in scolding Ron, and a napkin burst into flame.

"Good grindylows!" Molly was on the situation with an aguamenti, leaving Narcissa quite pink and apologetic. "There, there, dear." The Weasley matron patted her trembling guest. "Happens to the best of us. Neville be a gem and get those boys in. Supper's nearly ready."

The last three errant males shuffled in windblown and excited. Narcissa immediately gravitated toward her son as if he was magnetic. He patted her back and her pursed lips relaxed ever so slightly. It seemed the evening's guests, save for the Malfoys, each had a claim of sorts on seating territories – as family members are wont. Draco and Narcissa sat last, between Harry Potter and Molly.

The din of various conversations and shouts for the passing of food items was tangible. Draco served his mother graciously, afraid she might avoid eating entirely otherwise. He recognized mash, pot roast, steamed vegetables, tomato gravy, bangers and sundry rolls. Some fare was less…familiar, and he politely waved it on its way.

But he had to admit, everything was damned delicious. He had seconds of the roast, and noticed his mother forked every pea from her mismatched plate. And their wine was well-received, stimulating easy conversation. His mother truly had brilliant ideas, sometimes. Topics ranged from Draco's fine new broom to George's joke shop to the unsurprising surprising possibility of Harry teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts for a few terms.

The scarhead was irritatingly unassuming about the invitation. Draco had to practically weight his eyeballs with lead to keep them from rolling. He took the opportunity to cut in and compliment Mrs. Weasley on the meal. "You've absolutely outdone yourself, madam."

"Truly," Narcissa agreed. She tried to avoid regarding her son as a stranger when he instigated a toast to Molly's cooking prowess, but grudgingly admitted the maneuver bought him even further into the clan. Question was, did he know what he was getting into at all?

"Aye, mum!" George called. "Always the best in the kitchen. And the performing animal napkins were brill! If you'd done these when we were kids, we might have eaten our veg!"

"Oh, I can't take credit for the napkins!" Molly gestured grandly. "That was Ms. Malfoy's remarkable charm work!"

Hermione Granger met Narcissa's eyes from across the table. Her jaw clenched. "Impressive."

Narcissa's brow quirked up. "Thank you…Hermione."

Granger nodded. "You're welcome...Narcissa." Never had a name sounded so like a threat. Draco wiped his mouth to hide his grin.

"Who wants dessert?" Molly and Ginny were fetching a cake and platter of cookies.

"Pssst." Harry motioned to Draco, who leaned in. "Come on out to Arthur's garage with us. You'll like his new toy."

Draco nodded, and discreetly squeezed his mother's knee. "Back in a moment." She clutched briefly and almost desperately to his wrist. He had to wrench it away. "Have some cake." He kissed her cheek and left.

Arthur's garage was dim and dusty. The numerous exposed beams were hung with muggle paraphernalia of all sorts; radios, phones, tellies and cords. Tables were strewn with kitchen appliances, vacuums and hair dryers. Draco touched items as he passed, following Harry, Ron and Neville.

In the center of the building was a tarp covered something. Ron unveiled it with a flourish and a heavy swirl of dust. Harry and Neville delivered low, appreciative whistles. Draco cocked his head. "It's a car," he said, proud to have recognized the muggle object.

"What?"

"Oh!"

"A _car_!"

The violent reactions to Draco's commented indicated he was apparently less knowledgeable about muggle devices than he'd thought. "Well, what is it, then?"

Ron lovingly rubbed the smooth green machine. "Mate. This is a 1962 Aston Martin DB4 Drophead Coupe."

"Ah." Draco bowed respectfully. "It is a…nice car."

Harry and Neville were laughing. "Not funny!" Ron insisted. He shot a look at Malfoy. "I guess it's the type of car you would have if you were a muggle, Malfoy."

Draco looked inside it. "Perhaps. Smells nice."

"Smells like genuine leather interior!" Ron defended.

Harry chuckled. "Arthur was supposed to dispose of it after some witch charmed it to chase trespassers off her property. But he got attached to it. Makes sense…after what we did to the flying Anglia, Ron."

Neville slapped Ron's back. "Must be why this one's off limits, eh, mate?"

Ron scuffed the ground guiltily in reply. Draco opened the car's driver side door and slipped in behind the wheel. "Lovely piece of machinery in any case," Malfoy said. "On par with my broom, I'd say."

"I dunno," said Ron. "That broom…"

"Mione would kill you," Harry said.

"She nearly did!" Neville added.

Draco shrugged in the muggle car. "I don't understand," he said. "Why was she so upset about you being on my broom?"

"Oh, boy…"

"Here we go…" Harry and Neville settled into comfortable positions on Arthur's counter.

"Oh, shut up." Ron scowled at them. "It's perfectly understandable, really. I fell off my broom a few months back doing something stupid and she's…forbidden me to be back on one."

"Forbidden you?" Perhaps Draco couldn't keep the disbelief from his voice.

"Stuff it, Malfoy!" Ron blushed brightly. "She bleedin' cares about me! And it won't last forever."

Draco fought a grin and raised his hands in surrender. "You're absolutely right," he said. "Besides, it would be impossible for a wizard to be off a broom forever, I think."

"Don't know about that." Harry smiled teasingly at Ron. "Ronald's wife is a force to be reckoned with."

"Ha-ha." Ron chucked a dirty rag at his friend. "Just wait til my sister gets started on you."

"Oh, it's already started, mate." Harry laughed good-naturedly. "She told me tonight to stay away from the extra butter!"

"That's what you get for shagging my sister!" Ron joked. Neville looked up in surprise. "Yeah!" Ron went on, gesturing to a blushing Harry. "In our bloody house, no less!"

"Harry?" Neville looked scandalized. Draco looked fascinated.

"It was…spur of the moment!" Harry defended himself. "I didn't plan it, mate! We've talked about this!"

"Spur of the moment?" Draco asked, starting to smile familiarly. "That's your defense for deflowering Ronald's sister?"

A pause, then the group burst into laughter. "Well, isn't everyone's first time spur of the moment?" Harry asked.

"I'll say," Ron capitulated. "In the abandoned Slytherin dorms a few days after the final battle." He grinned fondly. "Ol' McGonagall had sent us down looking for dark objects left by Death Eaters…"

Draco was hoping his blush wasn't visible in the darkness surrounding them. He'd recently had his mother in the same place…

"Were there?" Neville asked. "Dark objects?"

"Nah. But the thought of getting caught made it kind of fun." Ron nodded to Longbottom. "What about you, Nev? Your first time exciting?"

Neville shook his head, looking down. "Not as all that, really. It was…you know…my wedding night."

Draco blinked. "You had sex the first time on your wedding night."

"Aye."

The Malfoy shook his head sadly. "And people think we purebloods are traditionalists."

Surprisingly, Neville swelled a bit. "You imply you're not, Malfoy. Suppose you've got a first time story of your own, then?"

Draco swallowed. _No way in Hell…_ "No! Nothing like that! Just teasing."

"Nev's right…" Ron said, peering into the car at Draco. "We all shared. Let's hear it Malfoy. Or are you just as big a traditionalist smoke-blower as all those other purebloods out there?"

He was _not_ getting into this – not with these nitwits, especially. But they stared at him so expectantly… _Just make something up, then. Not so hard, is it?_ He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "It's not so exciting at all," he murmured.

"So?" Neville leaned forward. "Neither was mine!"

"Do we know her?" Harry asked.

"No," Draco answered quickly. "She's…older than us."

Wolf whistles, claps and exclamations. "Now, _that's_ exciting, Malfoy!" Ron laughed. "Was she hot?"

Draco bristled. "She was very attractive, yes!" He looked at his hands on the muggle steering wheel. "She's a…friend of my mum."

"Your mum's hot." Ron said matter-of-factly. There were solemn nods of agreement all-around.

"Hey!" Draco yelled.

"Compliment, mate." Ron held up a steadying hand. "Go on."

Draco felt himself relax into the leather seat. He smiled a bit at the pleasant images surfacing – not that anyone could ever truly hear of them. He would simply have to improvise.

"It was…the night after my father's wake," he began. His audience was rapt. His mouth spun a tale of reverent, comforting sex in his quiet bedroom while his lovely mother wept down the hall.

But in his mind, separate from the machinations of imagination and self-preservation, the beautiful, peculiar truth unfolded again on an alabaster memory screen, flickering and spotting like a muggle silent film…


	2. Backseat Drivers

To the dragon as always and BeautifulDisaster, the Lady Bellatrix Black and 97hollster and lilian - you all rock so hard for reviewing. And to my other, quieter readers. It's okay...I understand;-) This one particularly goes out to mysthslayer - here's your coffin bit, you lovely sicko.

Malfoy Manner: Our Dinner with Weasleys

Part the Second: Backseat Drivers

_The drawing room was quiet, dark and empty. Draco sat front and center to the casket, just as he had during the funeral proceedings. If they could be called that; eleven people, several of them solicitors or ministry agents, and two extended family members who didn't seem at all regretful about speaking only French. It had cleared out fairly quickly._

_Now, in the chair beside him was a bottle of firewhiskey and a shot glass. He'd had two. He was in no hurry. In the elaborate snow-white box there was his father. The remains of his father, anyway. A closed casket had been firmly recommended. Apparently, dementors didn't leave behind anything attractive._

_Oh, well. The coffin was pretty. His mother had such nice taste. No doubt she was off grieving as was proper.'What the hell's wrong with me?' Draco wondered. He leaned his elbows on his knees and cradled his face in his hands. 'I can't seem to miss the man.' _

_He'd tried for the last three damn days; thought of his father's smile, his laugh, but those things had only ever seemed to proceed another's pain. He'd tried to recall holidays filled with quality time, but it had always been just himself and the elf, really. It seemed his father had always worked hard just to keep his son and wife estranged from each other – to keep his family on the whole estranged._

_All Draco could truly remember fondly were the gifts. Always, always lavish gifts – new brooms, fine clothes, exotic pets, sweets and the best toys available. Anytime there were sharp words, there was a gift to make up for it. If his mother wept one morning, she had a new necklace the next._

_His mother. She was always just…the pretty witch in the house._

"_Draco?" The pretty witch had come to stand before him, interrupting his view of the casket. _

_He blinked up at her, expecting a tearstained face. Instead, she looked remarkably composed, like usual. He swallowed. The white silky nightgown she wore was almost sheer in the drawing room's bright moonlight. It wasn't the first time he'd noticed her body, her attractiveness. Hardly appropriate given she was his mother, and even less appropriate now given the immediate presence of his dead father. "Yes?"_

_She studied him curiously. "You should sleep, son. We've a busy day tomorrow."_

"_Oh? Are we to bury him ourselves, then?"_

"_Don't be obscene." She sighed and sat beside him. "Are you drunk?"_

"_No." She smelled lovely. _

"_Draco…" Hesitantly, her slender hand stroked his elbow. She didn't know how to be a mother, just as he didn't know how to be a son. "I know that you…miss him…" There was something in the way her lips quirked._

"_Do you?" He asked her. "Do you know that?"_

_She blushed. "I apologize. I should not assume to know your emotions, son."_

"_And I shan't assume to know yours. Do you miss him?"_

_She stared at him. Her eyes were quite peculiar – nebulas of bluegray hues. Like his own, but different. "I…"_

"_Tell me the truth," he said. "And I'll do the same. I promise."_

"_I do not miss him." And her chin went up to prove it, to challenge any question._

"_Me either."_

_Her chin dropped. "Oh." _

"_I didn't know him, mother." Draco gestured to the coffin. "Did you?"_

_She shrugged. "No. Not really."_

"_Did you love him?"_

_Another shrug. A thin silver strap slipped from her creamy shoulder. He tried to ignore it. "I wanted to love him," she whispered. "I wanted to be a good wife. A mother."_

"_You were," Draco leaned toward her, took hold her hands. They were chilly. "You were, I'm sure of it," he said. _

_She was shaking her head, tears beginning to form. "No, Draco. I wasn't. I never had a chance!" Her hands tightened on his. Their eyes met, hers feverish, desperate for knowing. "Draco. Do you love me?"_

_He opened his mouth, but what he'd thought was an automatic answer froze in his throat. Her hurt was a palpable wave. "Mother." He didn't remember kissing boo-boo's, hide and seek, or story times. He looked at this woman and remembered a curve of her jaw; an expanse of pale, porcelain back as a dress zipped, the look of shapely hips just below his eye level as he learned to dance atop her graceful feet. "I do love you," he whispered. 'Just not like I should,' he added silently._

_She nodded, but didn't seem terribly relieved. "Perhaps now…we could…start to know one another?"_

_In answer, he hugged her to him. "Perhaps," he murmured into her hair. It was soft. He nuzzled it. His thumbs felt…skin. Gods, there was no back to this gown – just two straps criss-crossing. And her back was…heavenly. Cool to his fingers, and satin smooth. He touched unsashamedly, felt the muscles beneath his palms tense and contract._

_Her hands found his shoulders and awkwardly caressed. "Draco…" Hot breath from such a cold mouth._

_His hands slid further south, fingertips reading the Braille of her spine. His lips found her ear. "You're chilled, mother."_

"_I'm…" She didn't finish the thought. Draco's jacket shifted and through his cotton oxford, he felt her hard nipples press into his chest. He hardened, too, and shifted closer to her. She panted against his neck. "Draco."_

_His mouth and lips were sliding down the column of her throat for some reason. For some reason, her head was tilting back, giving him better access. "Mother," he murmured into that precious hollow above her breastbone._

"_Stop!" She gasped._

"_I can't!" He gasped. _

_He pressed her backward bodily. She bent like a rose in the wind. He kissed her chest, felt it heaving sumptuously under his exploration. She was his every fantasy made reality – a stark and awakening realization. It was more than desire making his head swim._

_Unthinking, unbridled, his nose nudged at the strap on her other shoulder, needing to bare her further. He wanted his mother naked. She shivered at the touch, but suddenly scrambled against him. "Draco, no!"_

_She flung herself away, bent and staggering from the seats. He was on her in a flash, an arm grabbing her waist. Her hands hit the edge of the marble table upon which his father rested. "Please!" she cried._

_They stumbled. Draco's strong upper body bent her weaker one til it touched the shining coffin surface. "Please what?" He turned her to face him, needed to see her eyes, her honesty. He saw tears on her cheeks. _

"_Please don't…" She went nearly boneless. He pressed a leg between hers and heard, felt her breath hitch. Her core was hot against his thigh. Her eyes shone, finally meeting his from beneath long, dewy lashes, half-closed with pupils as wide as saucers._

"_Don't what?" His hands slid up, up, over her breasts (she squirmed) and to her neck. He cradled her heavy head, angled her for kissing, and let his lips hover while he awaited her reply._

_Her tears teemed over her eye-brims and she sobbed brokenly, "Don't stop!"_

_So his lips fell on hers and she gave in, resistance in the far distance. She surged against him, gave assistance when he boosted her bum onto the table edge. His father's coffin supported her back when she helped him struggle out of his jacket. He tore the other strap from her shoulder and attacked her perfect breasts, grunted when her thighs drew him further into their clutch._

_She thrust her tongue in his mouth and Merlin, he'd thought only naughty Slytherin girls kissed like that. But this was so much better, more certain and more…wanting. His trousers clung to his hips, didn't even fall away completely before he was pressing his bare cock against the wet silk over her cunt. _

_He groaned, hands travelling up her legs, finding the knickers, tugging. In a haze, she pulled away from his lips long enough to brace both hands behind herself and lift. Her son divested her of the knickers swiftly and as soon as her arse hit cold marble again, he slid inside her, pausing awkwardly only once, looking at her with wide, amazed eyes._

"_Draco," she rasped. "Oh, gods, son!"_

_He'd no knowledge to guide him, but instinct won out. Centuries of human mating made intrinsic practice. They moved together, her flexing arms and undulations making his thrusts all the more powerful. Draco grabbed hold of a bar behind her for support – a bar obviously meant for a pall-barer to grip. But he bore only her, knew only her, this extraordinary creature who'd borne himself in many ways. _

_She growled and groaned like an animal, clutching his head, ignoring the bite of polished wood and metal at her upper back. The coffin slid loudly a few inches here and there until finally she arched into her boy as if he were her exorcist. Her fingers couldn't pull him tightly enough to her as she came apart and felt him follow uncertainly and powerlessly seconds later._

_She cooed in his ear, wrapped her legs round his waist. Draco stroked her despite her sticky sweat. He kissed her neck, her face, her lips. They breathed each other's breaths. The moonlight showed him their joined reflections in the lid of Lucius' elegant casket, and they were beautiful together. They were simply perfect… _

"Wow, Draco." Potter had broken the descended silence. The young Malfoy snapped back to the present, relieved his ruse had been believable. Harry was shaking his head. "That's crazy, mate."

"Yeah," Ron agreed seriously. "We didn't know your mum or dad had friends." Neville punched Ron's arm, but Draco smiled gamely at the ribbing. It was pretty damned close to the truth, actually.

"Well, they've got friends now," Potter said.

Draco grimaced. "Oh, you had to go and sap it up, Potter!"

Their laughter was cut short when the door of the garage flew up, loudly banging, revealing Arthur and Narcissa. Ms. Malfoy wore a slightly startled face and held Draco's broom to her side in the fashion of a professional quidditch player. Draco salivated a little at the vision.

"Knew you boys would be out here!" Arthur chuckled. "Hard to resist, isn't she?"

"Sorry, dad," Ron said. Draco peered guiltily through the windshield at his mother's smirk and raised eyebrow.

"It's alright, son. Narcissa informs us she and Draco are departing. Unfortunate really, as your mum and brothers have decided a fire is in order." Ron, Harry and Neville perked up. Apparently a fireside gathering was a thing to enjoy among Weasleys.

Draco, on the other hand, was contemplating a different kind of fire entirely. He wondered if his mother could be persuaded to partake in moonlit forest fucking somewhere between here and home… The way she was holding that broom suggested the possibility was good.

Handshakes and until-next-time's were exchanged. The requisite one-armed hug was delivered. Arthur herded his son and adopted sons out to their fire and singing and marshmallow-roasting. "You show your mother around the Aston before you go," he called back to Draco jovially. "I bet she'll enjoy it!"

"I will, sir!" Draco replied. "And I'll cover it for you, too!"

Dust swirled in the dim lamplight and they were alone. Narcissa bit her bottom lip. "Aston?"

Thoughts of moonlit forests had careened to a halt, causing a muggle five-car pile-up. Could he get her in the damned thing? Worth a shot… "The car," Draco explained. He reached for her hand. "Have a look." Cissa propped his broom against a cluttered table and walked to the open driver's door. She sighed placatingly as her son seated her behind the wheel. "What do you think?" He grinned at her.

"It smells nice." Her hands touched the wheel, played at turning it. Her feet stretched to the pedals, and she pumped the gas experimentally. "It won't…go?" She asked.

Draco gestured for her to move over and took the driver's position. Briefly, he explained what he knew of the mechanics, showed her the shift and the ignition, the radio and various meters. She humored him beautifully. "Intriguing," she allowed.

"Mum?"

"Yes?"

He looked at the logo at the steering wheel's center, stroked it. "Do you ever think about…the first time we were together?"

Her neatly manicured fingers touched the clasp on the glove box before her. "I have."

"The others – Harry and them – they were talking about it. Their first times, I mean."

She looked at him, a strange blend of sadness and worry on her features. "You didn't…"

"Gods, no!" He shook his head. "I just made something up."

She looked away again, fingered the passenger door handle. "That must have been difficult for you." And there was the wistful wisp that appeared sometimes, a tiny frown on her pretty lips.

Draco took her chin and turned her face to his. "I wished I could have told the truth," he whispered. "Because I still think it's one of the most beautiful memories I will ever know."

Her eyes glistened. She leaned toward him and they kissed softly, sweetly. "Shall we go?" There was the definite suggestion of salacious activity in her quiet question. It thrilled him.

"You know, mum." Draco stroked her cheek, faces still close. He smelled chocolate on her breath. "Muggles are known to occasionally…mate…in the backs of these things."

Those glistening eyes widened. "Muggles do strange things," she murmured. But she didn't shy away from his second kiss. In fact, she let it linger like a promise.

"Mm-hm." He turned to pull her against him more firmly, deepening their kiss. She was prized and pliant. Leather creaked as they shifted. Her strong hands rubbed at his neck and back.

Draco's knee banged the dash. "Ow!" She reached for his hurt and he swatted her hand away, cocked his head. "Come on," he panted. "Easier back there." His trousers tightened further as he watched her backside somehow maneuver almost gracefully over the front seats. He showed none of that grace himself when he scrambled after her.

She looked positively wanton laying on the white leather, her hands flicking off her heels. Knees now in the seat at her hip, Draco struggled from his jacket, dropped his wand to the floorboard. She was on an elbow, unbuckling his belt as he kissed her bent knees, caressed the insides of her spread thighs. "Gods, witch…"His finger traced her wand holster to the ebony instrument on the outside of her thigh, then back around. He loved her garters, snapped them open easily now, practiced and perfected…

She was quiet save for her occasional gasps, raised up to slide his tie from his neck. They kissed more, unbuttoning his shirt and trousers together. When Draco pulled her knickers from her legs, his head bumped the soft roof of the car. "Sorry so cramped, mum." No, hell, he wasn't.

She brushed off his apology. "Sit, son."

"Huh?" His brain was a bit addled, hot straining cock having met the cool sateen of her rucked-up frock.

"Sit," she repeated, drawing up on her knees.

"Oh." He fell into the backseat. More creaking leather. Grunted as she palmed his erection and straddled him. Again, they kissed sloppily, bent awkwardly. He held her hips under her dress and she lowered onto his hardness. Their foreheads pressed together. They moaned at the simple, overwhelming pleasure of joining.

Narcissa found no space to push against his shoulders the way she would have liked. Her back hit the front seats. Frustrated, she growled and instead found purchase with one hand on the seat behind her and one braced against the roof. It was quite exquisite for the grinding cadence they'd recently discovered, and soon their heat and breaths were combining to fog the car's windows nicely. "Oh, Draco…" Her head lolled back.

He attacked her neck, her ears, tongue scraping sapphire. "Every time, Narcissa," he huffed. "Every time feels like the first to me." She sobbed and tightened at his words. "Christ, it's good!" He needed her more, harder, pulled her from her stabilizing grips and planted her back against the side of the car. She oomphed.

"I'm sorry!" He rasped. "I need to fuck you, mum." His thrusts pushed her til again she braced a hand on the roof. Her other arm held his shoulders. One of his knees had pushed into the crease between the backseat cushions. It frustrated him a bit, but apparently the angle it created was pure pleasure for the witch whose legs were round his hips.

She cried out with every lunge he made, finally keened in his ear. "There, son! Yesyesyes!" Her head slammed into the small passenger window and Draco drove into her as hard as he could, focused on the sensation of her rippling walls and clenching thighs. This moment he lived for; her abandoned indulgence, the ultimate sensuality of her orgasm mingling with his.

There was the roll of their magic meeting, a drowning tide that was too brief. Then the delectable tingles of static, the coming down, this time accompanied by the sound of her sticky bum squeaking against leather interior.

Draco cupped her face and she returned the gesture. "I love you," she whispered.

And he _knew _this thing for a fact; felt it in her touches, her words, her care for him. But so _rarely_ did either of them speak it aloud –as if it was a thing that still secretly shamed them. And fuck that! This woman was his goddess. He sacrificed a kiss. "I worship you," he whispered back.

She nodded. They were cooling quick. "We should go before Arthur comes to check his car is covered," she reminded gently.

"Right." He slipped out of her and began affixing himself. She drew her wand and did some detailing to Arthur's backseat before affixing herself. "Don't forget these." Draco passed over her knickers. "Whatever would Arthur think?"

Cissa chuckled as she re-dressed. "I would be more concerned about what his wife would think."

"True." Outside the car, Draco leaned in for a final check. "Merlin! It smells like pure sex in there."

"What did you expect?" She asked, brushing off her skirt. "It lacks adequate ventilation." She performed a quick freshening charm.

Draco scowled as he helped her out. "Now it smells like sex and…a lavender meadow."

"Oh, crack a window then!" She was straightening her hair and couldn't be bothered. He did so, then with one final stare, covered the car with the tarp Ron had left.

"Ready, mum?" She nodded, and quietly, like two teenagers sneaking out to a street fair, they left Arthur's garage. In a clearing a few meters away, Draco steadied the broom while his mother mounted it, then climbed on himself. Her arms settled around his chest and his goggles settled over his eyes.

"Mum?"

"Hm?" Her face was resting tiredly on his back as they rose. Soon they were silhouetted against the huge, full moon.

"I think I'd like to look into acquiring a muggle car."

"Of course, son." She nuzzled his shoulder. "Of course."


End file.
